Don't Let Your Demons Win
by Mav16
Summary: She was broken, physically, emotionally, and mentally, or so she thought. Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments, Cassandra Clare does.
1. Chapter 1

Clary's skull was ringing, her vision blurry. She was trying to crawl away. Suddenly, her feet were being lifted off the ground. She was frantically trying to grab hold of anything while being dragged the opposite way. "Let go of me!" she screamed.

"Come here, you dirty little-"

"NO!"

"Stop fighting me!"

"Never!"

"Fine. I'll come back for you later." Out of the corner of her eye she saw him leave. Whimpering, she slowly dragged herself to the farthest corner of the dark drabby room. She leaned against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. _Maybe if I shrink enough, I'll just disappear_ , thought Clary. She was exhausted. _All of that fear for your life stuff really takes it out of you_. Clary smiled to herself. _At least my sense of humor isn't broken_. At that Clary laid down on the cold concrete and closed her eyes, falling asleep. She woke up a little later to one of his friends placing a plate of eggs in front of her. Breakfast. Clary's stomach churned. They smelled horrid, but it was better than nothing. She sat up and devoured the eggs.

A while had passed and nothing. Generally, either his friends or he himself came in to check on her, make sure she was still alive. She wondered what was going on. She stood up to try the door. It was unlocked which was incredibly unusual. The living room was scattered with beer cans and fast food wrappers. She peeked hesitantly around the corners in the apartment, like a frightened animal, looking for any sign of him or his friends. _They must've left and forgotten to lock the door_ , she thought, _this is my chance_. She was about to grab a knife, when she realized that a guy like him must have a gun around somewhere. Plus, with a knife, even if she could get close enough to attack, he was much stronger than her. She was rummaging around in the couch when she saw it, _a gun_. That's when she heard the key slide into the lock of the front door. She quickly scampered into her "room" and closed the door as quietly as she could. She ran into her corner and listened closely. _No voices. He must be alone_ , she thought. She heard him rummage around in the kitchen, and then her door knob rattled. He opened the door and she saw that he was holding a knife. Her eyes widened as he moved towards her. She slowly got up, making sure she was hiding the gun behind her back so he couldn't see it. Then, as he came closer, she drew the gun, her hands shaking. A look of surprise came across his face, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared, and turned into a sneer.

"You're not getting away that easy," he barked. He advanced on her, quicker than she had anticipated. He grabbed her arms trying to wrench the gun out of her hands. She fought as hard as she could, and managed to get the gun pointed towards him again. _Bang_. She pulled the trigger, but not quick enough. He staggered back as her hand went to her side. She pulled it back as it glistened red. Everything felt as if it were happening in slow motion. She looked up at him, and the knife in his hand. The wound in his ribs was bleeding profusely, coloring his shirt almost black. Despite the deep gash at her side, she had to take this opportunity to escape. She dashed out the front door keeping her hand pressed on the source of blood. She careened down the street, and turned the corner, and then another, and then another. She tried to get as far away as possible. Even though she shot him, he was strong, strong enough to come after her.

She ran a little further when she saw it. It was a huge cathedral. She felt as if that was where she was supposed to get help. She moved towards the huge doors, staggering more vividly than before. She pushed open the gates and wobbled up the pathway. She started to ascend the stairs, when she lost her footing. She reached a bloody hand out and touched the doors. They opened slowly. " _Help_ ," she whispered as she collapsed into a pool of her own blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey Guys! Thanks for reading my stories and commenting on them. I love reading the comments. I am getting a few "please continue"s and don't fret darlings, I'm working on it. The more comments there are, the more incentive I have to write. Sometimes, it takes me a little while to write the next chapter because of a small writer's block, or I'm busy, but bare with me. I like writing these stories, and the comments make it 10x better, so please keep reading and commenting! Thank you!**

Jace couldn't sleep. He was tossing and turning, twisting the sheets around him. "Ughhh," moaned Jace. He sat up and decided to go get something to drink from the kitchen. He was trotting downstairs when he noticed that it was getting colder and colder the more he descended. His eyebrows furrowed. He kept going. He turned the corner towards the main hall and stopped. The doors were wide open. He squinted his eyes and saw that there was a shape at the foot of the door. As he moved closer, he realized it wasn't just a blob, it was a girl. He ran towards her. _She must be a Shadowhunter_ , Jace thought. _No one other than a Shadowhunter can open these doors_. She had flaming red hair that was growing wet from the pool of blood that surrounded her. He got up and rang the emergency bell. When this bell is rung, everyone in the Institute gets up and congregates in the main hall to address the emergency. Jace dropped back down on his knees and searched for the source of blood. He realized she had been holding it, before her hand had went limp. In a few seconds, he heard the others' footsteps growing closer as they ran down the stairs. Isabelle was first, then Alec, then Maryse. They bolted towards Jace.

"What happened?" Isabelle asked.

"I-I don't know. I came down for drink and found the doors open with her on the ground. Guys… there's a _lot_ of blood."

"Let's get her to the infirmary," said Maryse, "and I'll call the Silent Brothers." Jace nodded, and then scooped the girl up into his arms. _She so light_ , Jace thought. He rushed her to the infirmary with Alec and Isabelle on his heels. He laid her down on the bed.

"Here. Press this on the wound to help stop the bleeding," said Alec, who handed him a towel. The towel was quickly soaking through with blood.

"Ughh. She's bleeding way too much. Alec, keep the towels coming," spoke Jace. Maryse ran in.

"The Silent Brothers are on their way. Just a few more minutes," promised Maryse.

"Maryse, I don't know if she'll make it. She's bleeding way too much," Jace replied. "Can I try giving her an _iratze_? The doors were open, which means that a Shadowhunter opened them. She was the only one out there, and I'm guessing none of you opened it. Which means that she has Shadowhunter blood." He looked at Maryse for an answer.

"I don't know Jace. That's a big risk. What if she isn't one? She could die."

"She's dying already Maryse. I mean look at her. Her lips are turning blue, her skin is paling by the second. She's going to die anyways if we don't do anything _right now_."

"Al-Alright," said Maryse hesitantly. "Let's give it a try." She handed Jace her stele. He lifted her shirt up a little, ever so gently, and drew an iratze right above the wound. It started healing instantly. Jace exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath in hope that it would work. Soon it was just a thin scar.

"I'll call the Silent Brothers and tell them they don't have to come then," maryse said. She left the room. Then Jace noticed something else. She was _covered_ in bruises and scars.

"Guys, look at this. She has bruises and cut marks all over her body. I-I think she was abused," Jace whispered, as they disappeared due to the _iratze_. Even though he didn't know this girl, he felt a twinge of sorrow and regret, as if maybe he could've have found her earlier and saved her from whoever had hurt her.

.o.O.o.

Clary had been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since she collapsed on the steps of the cathedral. She remembered falling, and the next thing she remembered was a boy who looked like pure gold leaning over her. Then she remembered a bunch of other faces above her, and the sensation of being picked up and carried. She had tried to say something, but had blacked out again.

Now, she was slowly trying to open her eyes. Clary didn't know how much time had passed since she had arrived at the front of the church, but she figured it couldn't have been long because it was still dark out. She was finally able to peel her eyes open and look around her. She was in a bed identical to those around her. Her clothes had been changed, now a white shirt and pants, but there was still blood in her hair, so she hadn't been bathed, which relieved her. The thought of someone else cleaning her while she was completely unconscious freaked her out, as it would anyone.

She then suddenly remembered the pain that had laced her side earlier that night, and him holding the bloody knife as blood gushed from his ribs. She scrabbled to lift her shirt up and was shocked to find that the wound was completely gone, the only evidence it ever existed in the thin scar on her side. Above it was a strange tattoo. Along with this, all of her bruises had disappeared. She was utterly bewildered. Her head was buzzing with unanswered questions.

She decided to look around more. The room she was in was pretty long, and it had high ceilings. As she looked closer, there were paintings on the ceiling. The largest one an angel rising out of a lake holding some sort of cup and sword. She got up and walked towards the door. She opened it as quietly as she could and crept out. She went downstairs and saw a dining room, which meant there had to be a kitchen close by. She was starving. She walked a little ways and found the kitchen. She opened the fridge and found some cold pasta, an apple, and some butter for the bread that was on the counter. She pulled all of it out and found a fork and a knife, not bothering to look for a plate. She was in the middle of stuffing her face with bread and butter when she heard someone coming. She ducked down behind the island. She peeked around the corner and saw the golden boy. He was about to open the fridge when he realized that there was already food out. He looked around and saw her green eyes and red hair peeking around the corner. He smiled. It was the most gentle smile anyone had ever given her. "There's no need to hide," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you." She stood up slowly. He looked at her curiously. "What's your name?" She didn't answer, just looked at him with eyes wide with fear. _Why should I trust you?_ , she thought. _I don't even know you… but I have so many questions._ He pushed the food she had gotten out towards her. She took it willingly. Then he turned around and got a large container out. It had chocolate cake in it. Clary couldn't remember the last time she had had chocolate cake. Her stomach growled audibly. He looked at her and saw her glance from the chocolate cake, to his face, and back. He smiled crookedly and handed her a piece. "You must be starving, after losing that much blood that is," he said. "What happened to you?" he asked, concern creasing his eyebrows and sorrow filling his amber eyes. She didn't answer him. "I understand you're scared, and you don't know who I am or where you are, but I can't help you if you won't talk to me." He sighed when she still didn't respond. "Okay, at least tell me your name." After a few beats of silents he added, " _Please?_ " She hesitantly nodded.

"I'm Clary, Clary Fairchild," she said, her voice raspy from not talking for a while. He smiled again, but bigger this time.

"Hi Clary. I'm Jace Herondale."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey Guys! I had started writing another chapter for** _ **Vengeance or Love?**_ **, but since I keep getting alerts (follows, favorites, comments) about this particular story, I figured I better start on a new chapter for this one first. Anyways, I will still be uploading chapters for both stories, because I can't just leave them unfinished. Furthermore, I already have ideas for other storylines, with I am excited to get started on. Well, enough about me… back by popular demand, chapter 3….**

 _She was in the corner of her dark, cold, concrete room. He had just left. Her breath was shallow, her pulse weak. Every cell in her body felt as though they were screaming in pain. She was bleeding from multiple gashes on her body. He was punishing her for leaving. He had said that if she tried it again, he'd kill her. Her door knob rattled and it sent a new wave of fear through her nerves. She pushed her curled body back into the concrete wall behind her, so hard it was painful, but she barely noticed. The door creaked open slowly. After a second, she decided to get up and go towards what awaited her in the shadows. As she grew closer, he jumped out with the knife. "I said if you tried to leave again I would kill you, and I plan to stay true to my word," he sneered. She backed up slowly until her back hit the wall with a thump. He drew his arm back, readying to throw the knife. He swung his arm forward and the knife sailed through the air. Her whole body tensed. Squeezing her eyes shut she braced herself for death. The tip of knife touched her stomach, blood started to leak out of the wound in beads-_

Clary jolted awake, sitting straight up. She was covered in sweat, her hair plastered to her temples and neck. Looking at the clock on her nightstand, she saw it was 4:30 a.m. She waited to get up until her breath evened out. She decided to head to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Once she had drank almost two full glasses, she figured that she wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, so she might as well look around. As she was walking down one of the many hallways, she smelled paint. She looked in one of the doors closest to her, and was in awe. It was an art room, filled with all of the art supplies and products she could ever imagine. She vaguely remembered painting with her mom when she was younger. It felt like an eternity ago, it was hard to believe that it had really happened. Clary walked over to the easel, which already had a canvas on it, as if it were calling her. She picked up the brushes and paints that seemed to be begging to be used. She started painting, not even thinking about it, and just let the creativity flow through her onto the canvas. About 45 minutes later, she had finished. They were emerald green eyes, _her_ eyes, glistening with tears on a black background. It had been so long since she had done anything artistic; it felt good to finally get back to her roots. She looked at her creation satisfied, so she signed her name at the bottom right corner. She yawned audibly, and looked around. Seeing a couch and a fireplace, she decided that she would just go close her eyes for a little while. She started a fire, and curled up on the couch, pulling a white fuzzy blanket on top of her. As she relaxed, melting into the couch, she fell asleep.

.o.O.o.

Jace stretched as he woke up. He thought about last night, and how that poor, scared girl had finally trusted him with a piece of her; her name. _Clary_. Her name gave him a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't place. With a sigh, he got up. After he had dressed, he had started heading towards the kitchen for some breakfast, when he passed by a door that was cracked open. He pushed lightly on the door and it gave way under his touch. He realized that it was the art room, although, he didn't really know why the Institute still had it, considering no one used it. The first thing he saw was a painting on the easel. With a frown, he padded over to it to take a closer look. It was beautiful; green eyes leaking tears. He realized who's eyes they were even before he saw the signature. The painting sent a pang of sadness throughout his body. He turned away from the painting intending to leave, when he heard a little whimper. His head snapped towards the sound. He saw that a fire was dying in the fireplace, and as he neared the couch he saw her flaming red hair spread out across the couch. Her face twisted in pain and she let out another whimper. He shook her shoulder lightly. Her eyes snapped wide open and she scrambled away from him in a panic. "Hey, hey," he said gently, his hands up in surrender. She looked at him, fear fading from her eyes as she realized who it was and her shoulders relaxed. She let out a sigh of relief, hugging herself with the blanket. "Sorry. I woke you up because you looked in pain. Are you? In pain that is?" he said. She shook her head. He sat down on the couch next to her, but giving her plenty of space. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, but she didn't look fine.

"I saw your painting, it's beautiful," he complemented.

She smiled faintly. "Thank you," she said, filling his ears with the beautiful sound of her voice. _I can't believe I just thought that_ , Jace said to himself. He flushed slightly, hoping she didn't notice.

He cleared his throat. "I'm glad someone is finally using this room for it's actual purpose, not just as a storage room," he said, indicating the boxes in the corner with a tilt of his head.

She nodded. "I sort of remember painting with my mom when I was little, but it's been forever since I've done anything even remotely artistic." She sighed. "I realized I missed it."

He was surprised that she had opened up even more to him, she seemed to have so many defensive walls up. He enjoyed it all the same. He felt this pull to her, in which he wanted her to tell him everything and vise versa. No one had ever made her feel this particular way before.

.o.O.o.

Clary followed Jace towards the kitchen for some breakfast. Back in the art room, she had let down one of her walls to Jace, which was odd considering she barely knew the guy. There was something about him that she couldn't put her finger on; it was almost as if he would understand exactly what she went through. The thing was, she couldn't tell any of them too much, because _he_ will probably find her, and she didn't want to put those around her in danger. Jace and Clary walked into the kitchen and got some pancakes, eggs, and bacon. As Jace filled his plate up, Clary was hesitant because she didn't want to seem too "pig-ish". Jace looked at her curiously. He smiled, and took the plate from her hands, and before she could protest, he had loaded the plate with food. "I'm guessing you're hungry for something substantial, considering last night, the majority of food that you ate was a chocolate cake." She blushed slightly, feeling a bit sheepish about how ravenously she had eaten the cake. Seeing her blush, Jace smiled. "It's okay," he said, trying to reassure her. "I don't know when the last time you had eaten, seeing as you are a mystery to us all."

"I hadn't," she said, quietly, "eaten, that is. Nothing even remotely tasty or substantial in a long time." He looked at her, his eyes filling with sorrow, but didn't push the subject. He gestured with his head to follow him. She followed him to the dining room. Everyone was sitting there, eating already. She recognized them vaguely from when she had been slipping in and out of consciousness the day before. At the head of the table was a woman with medium length dark brown hair and eyes. She had a commanding presence despite the fact that she was only a little bit taller than Clary. Next to her was a tall man with black hair and blue eyes. He regarded her thoughtfully. Beside him was a girl who had long sleek black hair with brown eyes. She was really pretty, with a model-like body. She made Clary a little self-conscious about her own looks.

"Clary, this is Maryse, Alec, and, Isabelle Lightwood," Jace informed her. They all smiled at her. Isabelle suddenly launched out of her seat and ran over to hug Clary. Before she could, Clary flinched. A look of sorrow mixed with confusion came over her originally smiling face.

"Sorry. It's just I am excited to have another girl around her besides my mom," said Isabelle, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"It's okay. I just don't like being touched after…" She stopped there.

Jace looked at her, concern furrowing his brows. "After what?" he asked.

She looked between all of them, not wanting to talk about it yet. Maryse seemed to notice this and quickly changed the subject. "So, Clary, I'm guessing you have a lot of questions about us as we do you. Why don't you sit down and eat while I tell you who we are and what we do here at the Institute."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey Guys! Sorry I haven't uploaded in a while. I've been pretty busy with homework and stuff and I also had a small case of writer's block. Anyways, here is Chapter 4.**

Clary stared at Maryse with her mouth hanging open. Maryse had just finished telling Clary about who they were, and who she was. She was a Shadowhunter, along with the rest of them. Clary felt as though she were in someone else's dream. This couldn't be possible; she was just an ordinary girl, well almost. She wasn't some tattoo-covered demon-fighter; she was just Clary. A girl who had been hurt more times than she could count. She felt as though her world was crashing down on her. She stood up suddenly, giving herself a head rush. "Clary, are you alright?" Jace asked, concerned. She looked around the table at the four pairs of eyes staring at her. She felt sick. She abruptly turned around and ran to the art room. As she ran, she vaguely heard them calling her name, but she ignored them, wanting to be alone with the paint. She reached the art room door and flung it open. She turned around, closing it as quietly as possible, hoping they wouldn't know where she had gone, and locked it. She grabbed the blanket from off of the couch and sat on the floor, shivering, leaning against the wall opposite the door.

She knew she was acting ridiculous, but she had been lied to enough in her life that she couldn't tell the difference between when someone was telling the truth or not. Even though she felt as though pieces of her life were clicking into place, she still felt uneasy, as if they were just messing with her head. That's what _he_ used to do, anyways, all of the time. She got up, and grabbed a new canvas, and placed it on the easel. Thoughts were whirling through her head as she picked up a paintbrush. _Are they telling me the truth? If they are, are they expecting me to tell them about_ him _? Ugghhh… what do I do?_ As her head was spinning with questions, she let the brush lead her hand across the canvas. She was aware of her hand moving, as if it had a mind of its own, but she was too preoccupied with her thoughts. Suddenly the door handle jiggled, and then someone knocked, bringing her out of her head. "Clary, are you alright? Please open the door." She recognized the muffled voice. _Jace_ , she thought. She slowly walked towards the door, until her hand was hovering above the lock. "Clary, please. At least let me know you're okay," said Jace. She slowly unlocked the door, and opened it hesitantly. His gold eyes looked down and met her green ones. Worry and sorrow filled his expression. "Clary," he breathed. The way he said her name sent shivers up her arms. He hesitantly brought his hand up and lightly swiped his thumb over her cheekbone. She flinched back a little at the gesture; she wasn't used to people touching her with kindness. When he pulled his hand back, she noticed that it was wet with her tears. Clary hadn't realized that she had been crying. She hastily rubbed the tears away; she _hated_ crying, especially in front of people, because it showed weakness, and, for the majority of her life, she had been taught to bottle it up. Clary looked up into Jace's eyes. He looked a little hurt, but it was quickly masked with concern. She backed up a little, opening the door so he could come in. He walked inside and she closed the door behind him. He suddenly sped up his walk until he reached the easel. Clary just then realized what she had painted. It, again, had a black background. A girl was curled in a corner, her head in her knees, her fiery red hair hanging down around her shoulders. Darker monster-like shadows surrounded her, bending over her, as if they were going to devour her soul. Jagged red lines were around the picture in random spots, like demonic lightening. Jace stared at the canvas. Clary couldn't read the expression on his face. The silence between them stretched on for minutes until Jace slowly turned to look at her. "Clary…" whispered Jace. She looked at her paint-covered hands, suddenly self-conscious. She felt as though she had painted a piece of herself, and Jace had walked right into it, seeing a part of her that no one else had seen in a very long time.

.o.O.o.

As Jace had stared at the painting, he felt as though he was liquifying. Twice now he had looked at her paintings and felt… well, he really didn't know what he felt, just that he needed to help this girl. Before, when he had brushed her tears away, she had jerked back, as if the gesture made her uncomfortable, or even scared. Then he had come in the room and seen the painting. It made his body feel like led; he was being weighed down by sorrow. The fact that she had flinched from his touch hurt him, but this hurt more. In the painting, the girl in the corner was obviously Clary, and the shadows around her must be her inner demons, trying to swallow her whole, trying to control her. He felt a strong need to protect her, and that she needed his help and comfort. He wanted so badly to know who had hurt her, and why she was so guarded. He wanted her to let him in, so he could help her get through this pain. He turned to look at her. "Clary…" was all he had said. She looked at her beautiful, small artist hands. He just stared at her, feeling the urge to put his arms around her, but he held back. She obviously wasn't comfortable with touching from anyone just yet.

"Sometimes I feel as if I am drowning. I get so confused about how I should feel, or what I should believe," said Clary quietly.

Jace blinked at her, surprised that she was letting him in. "What?"

"That's why I ran out of the room. I didn't know whether I should believe you or not, because I have been told _so_ many lies, and people in my past made a sport out of messing with my head." He stared at her, not knowing what to say. She looked up and met his gaze, her eyes shining. "You don't have to say anything," she said, with a small smile. "I wouldn't know how to respond either." She sighed. "I don't know why, but for some reason, I trust you enough to tell you this stuff. I mean, you saved my life. Had you not come down the stairs when you did a couple of nights ago, I would have died. I realize now that I never thanked you… so thank you."

Jace cleared his throat. "You're welcome, but I wasn't expecting a 'thank you'. I mean it's basically my job." She nodded, and then looked away. "Clary, are you alright?" He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how to start.

"No," she said, almost inaudibly, "and I don't know if I ever will be." Those few words were enough to make Jace feel helpless. He felt this strong pull towards her, to make her feel better, but he didn't know why, or how.

"You know what always helps me feel better? Training," said Jace.

"Training?" asked Clary.

"Yeah, like working out, but better. It helps get your aggressions out, and it, personally, clears my head."

"Okay."

.o.O.o.

They had reached the training room. Clary gaped at the huge room, with it's high ceilings and walls covered in weapons or targets. Huge wooden beams lined the ceiling, quite a bit down though. "Those aren't directly against the ceiling because we climb up there and practice our balance, or jump off to practice our flips." Clary nodded in acknowledgement. He stopped, turning towards her smiling. "So what do you feel comfortable doing first? We could practice punching against the punching bag, or practice balancing, or we could practice throwing kni-"

"No," Clary said shortly, cutting him off. She looked at him, her eyes wide with fear. He looked at her questionly. "No knives," she said, her hand subconsciously moving to the scar on her side. He followed her hand with his eyes. Then he slowly looked up, nodding in understanding. She took a deep breath and let it out. "I guess the punching bag first." Jace walked over towards a cart by the wall and grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and brought them over.

"Can I?" he asked, gesturing to her hand. She nodded, extending her arm. He took it gently, putting her hand inside the glove. Once he had velcroed it closed, he asked, "How's it feel?"

"Umm… a little large." He smiled slightly.

"I'll get you a smaller size," he said as he removed the glove. Jace walked back over to the bin and grabbed a smaller size. He put them on her hands. "How about now?"

"Good. I would give you a thumbs up, but…," she said, lifting her gloved hands. Jace chuckled. He led Clary over to the bag hanging from a chain. Standing behind her he asked, "Is it okay if I touch you a little? I need to in order to get your stance and form correct." She nodded. He placed his hands on her waist lightly, giving her goosebumps. "Okay so I need you to widen your stance, your dominant leg in the front." She did as he said. "Good. Now bring your hands up," he grabbed her arms lightly, "and also put the dominant one a little higher than the other, both in front of your chin and mouth." Clary did just that. Jace moved to her side and looked at her. "Your form looks great. Now I'm going to show you the types of punches and kicks there are." After going through those, Jace said she was ready to begin. He walked around to behind the punching bag and gripped the sides, holding it firmly in place.

"Ya, you better hold onto that. I'm gonna go all out, so beware," Clary said jokingly. Jace chuckled.

"Oh, I'm sure I can handle it Shortcake," he replied, smiling.

"Shortcake?" Clary asked.

"Ya, like strawberry shortcake."

"Oh," she said, furrowing her brows.

"Do you not want me to call you that?" Jace asked, slight concern lacing his tone.

"I don't mind."

"Then why'd you make that face?"

"Oh, I was just trying to remember the last time someone gave me a nickname out of affection." Jace just looked at her with an unreadable expression. A small bit of silence came between them. After a moment Clary said, "Enough of that. Let's get started." Jace braced himself as Clary got into position. She started punching hesitantly, feeling a little awkward.

"Aw c'mon Shortcake. I thought you were going to 'go all out' on me," he said with a smirk. Clary glared at him. She huffed and started punching, harder and harder. Not following a pattern of punches, she just let it all out. She thought of all of the times _he_ called her names. Every time _he_ sneered at her, laughed at her, spoke to her. She thought about every time _he_ hurt her and made her feel as if she was weak, like she was nothing. More and more horrible memories flooded into her brain, blurring over reality. She was vaguely aware of her punching, and how it was getting harder and harder, faster and faster. Pain started to seep into her being, into her hands, through her arms, into her legs. Her muscles were so tight, growing tenser and tenser at each memory. She heard Jace saying her name with concern, but it sounded as if she was underwater. She felt her body go slack, and Jace catch her as the onslaught of memories bombarded her mind, becoming more and more realistic. She could _feel_ the pain inflicted on her every time _he_ struck her, kicked her, beat her until she was so close to death she could practically reach out and touch it. Clary squeezed her eyes shut and reached up and fisted her hands in her hair, pulling hard enough to yank some carroty strands out, trying to gain control of her mind as the blackness closed in around her. Clary's lungs contracted, making it harder to breathe. She was shaking uncontrollably as she thought about how _he_ would drag her backwards by the foot when she tried to get away. "Let go!" she screamed. Clary vaguely heard Jace saying her name, trying to get her to focus on his voice. "J-Jace… please… please help… m-make it s-stop," she begged in a whisper.

"Clary? Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me, make that your priority. Don't think about any of the other stuff. Can you do that for me?" She nodded. "Good. Clary, it's going to be okay. Imagine breaking through the surface of water, get yourself out of your own mind." Clary did as he said. As she came back to reality, she felt everything come back into focus. His arms were wound around her while she sat sideways in his lap. Her whole body trembled with fear and exhaustion, and slow tears slid down her cheeks. She grabbed his shirt in her fists and pressed her face against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat. He tightened his arms around her as she calmed down.

"What was that?" asked Clary.

"I think you had a panic attack," said Jace.

"It felt like I was dying. I couldn't breathe. It felt so _real_."

"I know. I used to get them a lot. I'm just glad I could help." Silence stretched between them. Clary sighed.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime Shortcake," Jace replied, smiling slightly into her hair.


	5. Chapter 5

***Please Read***

 **Hey guys!**

 **I wanted to apologize for not updating in a while. I do, however, have a perfectly good reason… I have a concussion. I got my concussion on April 2 and have had it since. This has made doing things like functioning properly very difficult (that's a joke, sort of) I haven't really been allowed to be on the computer or my phone unless it's for school so… I have gotten quite a bit better in the last like two and a half weeks, so I am now allowed to continue writing fanfiction. It's been so annoying not being able to write fanfiction because I have thought of SO many other ideas, but I haven't been able to actually type them out. Now that it is summer break, and I have no life XD, I'll upload a lot more.**

 _She was in the corner of the dark and cold cement room again. She had her eyes closed, trying to block out the pain and suffering he had inflicted on her. He had done so many unspeakable things, it was almost surreal, except for the fact that she felt each and every one deep within her soul. She was shaking uncontrollably, but whether it was from cold or fear, she didn't know. "I told you that if you left, I would find you, didn't I?" he said. She nodded, wincing as the action made her head spin. "Then why did you disobey me, huh?" he sneered, cracking his hand across her face, leaving an angry red mark. She whimpered from the impact, careful not to make too much noise because he didn't like that. "You worthless b*tch. I told you what would happen if you ran, yet you still left anyways. I guess I hadn't gotten my point across like I thought I did," he said, advancing on her. He pulled a recently sharpened knife from his jacket. It was still stained red from the last time it had touched her. He pushed her down on the floor, the cold from the cement seeping through her thin clothes. The knife gleamed in the moonlight as he brought it down upon her. She screamed as he started carving, forgetting about his rule of no noise. Suddenly something freezing cold washed over her body. At first she thought it was death, but then realized it wasn't._

Clary shot up in bed with a gasp. She was soaking wet, and not just from sweat. She started shivering, and looked around for the source of water. She looked to her right and jumped. Jace was standing next to her bed with wide eyes holding a now empty pitcher of water. "I'm sorry I had to do that. I-I heard you screaming and I ran in here as f-fast as I could. I thought you were in trouble, but I realized you were having a nightmare. I tried to w-wake you up, but n-nothing was working. I tried s-shaking you, I, um, even slapped you t-to see if that would work, but it didn't. So I f-filled this pitcher with cold water and p-poured it on you. Thank the Angel it worked, otherwise I d-don't know what I w-would've done," he said in a panic. He noticed her shivering so he abruptly turned around and grabbed a thick blanket from its place on the chair in the corner of her room. He rushed over and wrapped it around her small shivering frame. He started talking again, saying, "I am so sorry. I didn't know what to do. You weren't waking up and I-"

Noticing his obvious distress, she abruptly got out of the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his hard chest. She could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath her cheek. He went rigid for a second before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her waist. "Thank you Jace," Clary said softly, squeezing his waist a little tighter.

"You're welcome Clary," he replied, his voice a little rough. After a few beats Clary let go and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked over at the clock, which read 3:27 a.m. She suddenly felt guilty for screaming. She felt bad for waking him up.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking up at him.

"What? Why?" he replied, shock evident on his face.

"Because I woke you up by screaming about a stupid nightmare." He knelt down in front of her and placed a hand gently on her knee, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her bare skin.

"Clary, you have _nothing_ to apologize for. It had to have been some nightmare, to make you scream like that. I know it's hard, but I just want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, whether it's about your life before you came here or what type of muffin you want, I'm here for you." This made Clary feel all warm and fuzzy inside, which was a very foreign feeling. She wasn't used to having someone genuinely care about her. It felt nice. She smiled down at him, and looked into his golden eyes that were filled with sincerity.

"Thank you Jace, for everything." He reached up and cupped her cheek, and for once in her life, she didn't flinch away. Instead, she leant into the comforting warmth of his calloused hands as he rubbed his thumb softly along her cheekbone. After a few moments, he retracted his hand and glanced down at her sheets before chuckling lightly.

"Sorry about your bed," he said referring to her wet sheets. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that you don't find sleeping in a ice-cold puddle comfortable." She smiled and shook her head. "Come on," he said, standing up and holding out his hand, "I'll take you to a new room with _dry_ sheets. She laughed and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her up. He led her out of the room to another one and opened the door. She walked in the room, which was a little smaller than hers, and turned around to face Jace. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest, making his muscles stand out more. Clary flushed slightly and hoped that the he wouldn't notice in the darkness of the room.

"Thank you again Jace. I appreciate it."

"No need to thank me. I'm glad to be of help," he said smiling before turning to go back to his room a little ways down the hall. She closed the door, turned and collapsed into the bed, snuggling under the covers. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about the way he had been so panicked when she wouldn't wake up, and about how he touched her with a gentleness she hadn't experienced in a long time. With a smile still playing on her lips, she fell into a deep slumber.

.o.O.o.

As Jace walked back to his room, he thought about that evening, or more accurately, that morning. When he had been pulled out of a restless sleep by a scream, he immediately knew it was Clary. He didn't know how, or why, he knew this, he just did. It was the most horrible noise he had ever heard; it was a noise of pure and unbridled terror. He had been up and bursting through her door in a matter of seconds. He had tried waking her up numerous times; shaking her, yelling her name, he even slapped her, and the only proof of her acknowledging his presence was the fact that she had stopped screaming. He had eventually reached a panic-mode. He had looked around frantically for an idea to get her out of the prison that was her mind. He finally spotted the pitcher and an idea bloomed in his head. He rushed to the bathroom, filling the pitcher with cold water, and then returning to her bedside. He had dumped the water on her, praying to the Angel and anyone else who would listen that this worked. She finally roused, shooting straight up with a sputtering gasp, water dripping off of her eyelashes and chin, and down her front. Her hair was sticking to her wet cheeks. She looked utterly confused as she looked around. When her gaze fell upon him, she jumped, but then relaxed when she saw who it was. Even though she relaxed slightly, she still looked up at him in bewilderment. He started rambling about how he was sorry and why he had dumped water with a temperature similar to that of Antarctica on her. He was also stuttering, which is something Jace Herondale _never_ did. He then noticed that she was shivering, so he grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around her. What surprised him, though, was when she wrapped her small arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest, right over his heart. He figured that she could feel his pounding heart against her cheek, but he hoped that she thought it was from his panic, and not a reaction to her body pressed against his. He had hesitantly wrapped his arms around the tiny girl, afraid that too much or too fast of a movement would scare her away. She had thanked him, and he had responded, his voice rough, displaying his body's reaction to her. She then apologized to him because she woke him up. He was utterly shocked at this; she had been having an obviously terrible nightmare, and she felt guilty about disturbing his sleep. To reassure her that it was in no way her fault, he placed a hand on her knee, and hoped that the goosebumps on her skin were from his touch, and not the cold water. Then he had told her that if there was anything she needed to talk about, he was there to listen, and he had meant every word. She thanked him again, and without his logical consent, his hand had reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her unbelievably soft cheek. Instead of flinching away from him like before, she had actually leaned into his hand, providing Jace with a wonderful, yet strange, feeling in the depths of his stomach. After gaining control of his hand again, he reluctantly pulled back and looked at her bedsheets, remembering her impromptu shower. That thought was not good because it brought on other thoughts of Clary, such as Clary showering, naked. This made his cheeks heat, and he hoped that the room was dark enough for her not to notice. He stood up and offered her his hand, and then relished in the way hers fit perfectly within his. He led her down the hall to one of the other empty guest rooms that were already made-up, but wishing it was his room he was pulling her to. She thanked him once again and then closed her door after he had turned away. As he approached and then entered his own room, he sat on the edge of his bed, and put his head in his hands, praying that his feelings for Clary would disappear. She was too fragile at the moment for anything other than a friendship, and although the little voice in the back of his mind disagreed with him, he wasn't going to ignore the fact. With that he flopped backwards into the bed, crawled under the covers, and fell into a sleep filled with dreams of a certain redhead.

 **So, one of the only things I have been allowed to do while recovering is listen to music. I love finding new music and deciding if I like it or not so if you have some suggestions for me, comment below. If you are also a fellow music fanatic like yours truly, I have some suggestions for you: any song by Billie Eilish; any song by FRENSHIP; California girls, Freak Like Me, or Wait by NoMBe; I Feel Like I'm Drowning by Two Feet; Hearts by Jessie Ware; Where's My Love by SYML; Talk Too Much by Coin; and Be Mine by Ofenbach. I have so many more suggestions, but those are some of my top ones right now. :) If you want more suggestions, ask away.**

 **Also, something exciting is that my birthday was on May 23rd! I turned 16! YAY! I haven't started driving yet though because I am also recovering from a knee injury (In July of 2017 I dislocated my knee, and knee injuries like this one, especially mine, take longer to recover), and I also don't have the all clear from my concussion doctor either. I am also so freaked out to start driving because, well, people on the road are CRAZY, and I tend to psych myself out in some situations so…**

 **Anyways, please review below. I love reading them, whether they are suggestions or just comments asking me to continue. Both fuel my desire to write more.**


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